


For the Love of Bellatrix: Promises

by White_Eyebrow



Series: The Dumbledore Army Chronicles [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2021-01-31 12:31:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Eyebrow/pseuds/White_Eyebrow
Summary: Dean Thomas discovers that humanity is relative. Will he keep his promises?Episode five of The D.A. Chronicles - Part 2 of 4.
Relationships: Dean Thomas/Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Luna Lovegood/Dean Thomas
Series: The Dumbledore Army Chronicles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544371
Kudos: 2





	1. At the Queen's Pleasure

Welsh Campsite No. 1234 000987 — September

* * *

_Dearest Mum,_

_Sorry, I left unannounced, but my schedule is going to be hectic during my seventh and final year at Hogwarts, and I wanted to get a head start on things. I don't want you to worry if you don't hear from me with any regularity as I plan on having my head down, studying hard, and all that. I'm going to be surrounded by friends, and all the teachers here have been very nice._

_I wanted to thank you for all the love and support you've given me all these years, and I want you to know that it'll never be forgotten._

_I promise that I'll return as soon as I can. I'll be fine in the meantime._

_Yours,_

_  
Dean_

—oOo—

Dean Thomas replaced the quill in its well. He held the letter up, availing himself of the scant light that eked in via the window in his small dormitory room located on the third floor of the Mudblood Relocation Camp. After proof-reading it, he set the paper atop the book that was required reading for his current state-sponsored curriculum. He frowned at the ridiculously long title imprinted on the spine:

_Mudbloods and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pure-Blood Society_

As he finished addressing the envelope, Dean heard the jingle of keys outside, and the door to his room unlocked.

The Enforcer, dressed in black robes, entered. "On your feet, boy. You have special visitors."

He rose from his chair and stood in the centre of the room, as was required by protocol. At The Enforcer's egress, two witches entered, one a blonde, the other a brunette—pure-bloods given their manner and state of dress. They regarded Dean briefly, seemingly unimpressed.

The Brunette approached and circled behind the youth; her perfume lingered.

The Blonde remained by the threshold. "I hope this is the last one. This is not how I wanted to spend my afternoon."

The Brunette sounded annoyed by her comment. "Did I not indulge _you_ when you were beside yourself with worry over _Draco's_ predicament?"

Dean's eyes involuntarily lifted upon hearing the name of his former schoolmate. He immediately recognized the family resemblance in the Blonde. "You're Draco's mother!"

"Eyes down, boy," the Brunette scolded.

The Blonde glared at her. "Should we speak so familiarly in front of _him?"_

"It matters not what he hears."

"Oh? You've made up your mind, then?"

"Yes... he'll do." The Brunette had lifted Dean's letter from the desk, and she began to read it. "I'll be working late at the ministry again…."

"With Umbridge?"

"Yes."

"Dreadful woman."

"Now you know why I'm so stressed. Even The Dark Lord doesn't want to deal with her directly…. I'll have the warden deliver the boy to the manor this evening, if that's all right?"

"I suppose." The Blonde rested her hands on her hips. "You know that I don't approve of this, by the way?"

The Brunette rolled her eyes. "Now you sound like _Maman."_

"I do not wish to speak in front of this Muggle-born any longer. Be sure to keep him out of sight." The Blonde then left, parting with, "I'll be waiting for you by the Floo." The door closed behind her.

The room was quiet. Dean turned his eyes toward the witch as far as he dared without turning his head.

The Brunette smirked, as she felt his gaze. "Alone at last." She folded the letter and placed it back inside its envelope. "You should know that they bin the post here, _Dean, _but I'll be happy to have it delivered for you, if you like?"

The youth returned his eyes to the fore. "I'd appreciate that, ma'am."

"Although, you really shouldn't make promises that you can't keep..." She approached close enough to smell the collar on his shirt, and she sniffed loudly. "You smell like this place."

He forgot himself again. "Can't help that, now, can I?"

Her brow furrowed. "Do you know who I am?" She set eyes in front of him in order to regard him directly. "Don't you recognize me?"

"No, ma'am."

She cackled with glee. With the envelope in hand, she left the room. The door locked behind her, but it did nothing to mask her loud footfalls that echoed in the otherwise quiet hallway.

Dean returned to his seat. He cracked open the book.

~o~o~o~o~O~o~o~o~o~

_BAM!_

At the appointed hour Dean Apparated in front of Malfoy Manor with the assistance of two enforcers. They were met at the main gate by Peter Pettigrew, who took custody of Dean and escorted him inside the mansion.

Dean crossed the threshold and took a moment to take in the splendour of the gilded atrium with its marbled flooring and columns accented with gold. A crystal chandelier floated above that reflected the many lights and set the walls ablaze with sparkles.

Pettigrew grew impatient—"Move"—and he pushed him up the staircase.

Dean was led to a large bedroom not far from the top of the stairs. He entered and flinched when the door magically closed behind him.

A house-elf stood in the centre of the room next to a small table—the contents set atop it hidden under a metal lid—and he beckoned the human.

Dean obeyed, and he was seated at the table. The elf removed the lid showcasing a hearty meal worthy of the palate of a pure-blood elite.

"Eat," the elf said. He smiled as the human greedily tore into the food as if he had not eaten in a week. The elf retrieved a bottle of Merlot and filled the wine glass. The youth took the proffered glass, but he hesitated; this made the elf frown. "Is there something wrong? I assure you it's a quality vintage."

"I'm sure, but I'm not old enough to drink wine. I'm only seventeen."

"Please, sir. If you don't partake, _Madam Lestrange_ will be very upset."

"Lestrange?" Dean gasped upon hearing the infamous surname. "As in _Bellatrix_ Lestrange?"

"Yes, sir."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. "Merlin." And he drank, grimacing at the unfamiliar, acrid taste.

Relieved, the elf smiled. "I'll draw you a bath when you're finished."

"Not to sound ungrateful, but why?"

"My mistress has instructed me to have you bathed and fed." He started for the bathroom. "Will you require assistance with the razor?"

"I can manage on my own, thanks."

The sumptuous meal put Dean in good spirits, and he proceeded to bathe, indulging himself in a long hot bath. That, and a proper shave, made him feel like a new man. He left the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, and he was stilled when he saw Bellatrix Lestrange seated at the small dinner table, waiting patiently while she sipped on a glass of wine. The elf remained by the exit, motionless like a statue.

When he naturally made a go for his clothes, Bellatrix spoke. "Stay where you are."

Dean obeyed, and she rose from the chair, glass in hand.

She approached slowly, regarding him as one would inspect a ripened piece of fruit, and she sniffed him. "Much improved… worthy of an audience with your betters." She completed the circuit and returned to her seat. "I sent your letter, by the way."

"Cheers."

"So, you know Draco… I take it that you used to attend Hogwarts?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you know Harry Potter?"

"I know _of_ him," he said, lying.

She grunted and continued to eye him up-and-down as she drummed her steepled fingers together. "Dignity is a privilege here."

"Sorry?"

"Remove your towel."

"And if I refuse?"

She shrugged. "Then I'll kill you."

He wisely discarded the towel, and she lowered her gaze, raising an eyebrow as the youth's hands were not big enough to completely cover his shame. She slowly waved her wand, and his hands magically clasped behind his back.

She smirked. "What's your name again, boy?"

"I'm not a boy."

"Gryffindor..." She snorted. "The arrogance embedded in your tone gives you away. You mistake it for courage, but it is a false courage, particularly with you males." She brought the glass to her nose, smelling the fruity contents therein before taking another sip. "You see, the only courage your lot understands is physical courage. True courage is putting your convictions into action in order to do what is right."

"To do what is right... or what is easy?"

Her smile was genuine. "You are _so_ adorable: almost a man." She rose from her chair, tapping the tip of her wand in her open palm like a riding crop. "Tell me, did Dumbledore have you on your knees with his hands on the back of your head as he pumped his ideology down your throat?"

Dean did not respond.

"The strong silent type too." She levelled her wand—_"Avada Kedavra!"_—causing the youth to flinch when her killing curse whizzed by his head, missing him by mere inches, and finding its mark on a bat perched on the mantle behind him. The animal fell to the floor. "I hate bats. Azkaban was filled with them: rats with wings."

She gave a sideways nod toward her faithful house-elf, and he removed the dead rodent. "Did the boy drink his wine?"

"Yes, mistress."

"Good. Leave us."

She laid her wand on the table so as to remove her dress unencumbered, retaining her burgundy silk chemise suspended by spaghetti straps. Her back was turned to him as she rested her foot on the chair in order to adjust the strap on her stiletto boot. Her hands smoothed out the ripples in the sheer black stockings that hugged her legs.

It grew warm in Dean's core.

Her breasts swayed underneath the fabric as she ran her finders through her silky raven hair. "Fourteen years is such a long time, especially in Azkaban. But the experience has taught me not to take the finer pleasures of life for granted." She regarded him over her shoulder, then turned to face him. "Do you have a girlfriend, Gryffindor?" As she approached, she frowned at his continued reticence. "Answer me."

"No, ma'am."

She casually walked behind him, verifying that his hands were still magically bound. "Have you ever lain with a woman?"

He hesitated before answering, "N-no."

She came upon him obliquely, tracing her wand's tip across his shoulders. Her attentions moved lower down his torso and past his waist. He flinched when she reached her destination. The uniquely curved walnut shaft of her wand glowed a dull yellow, and it lightly graced his most sensitive skin as she invoked:

"_Prophylactuus..."_

He swallowed.

"Do you find me attractive?" She diverted her eyes away from her busy wand-work to meet his nervous gaze. "I asked you a question, Gryffindor."

"No."

She brought her wand to her lips, and she tasted its now pungent tip. "Liar."

She walked over to the bed, stopping at the corner to lean against the bedpost. When she snapped her fingers, Dean sensed that the magic that bound his hands had dissipated, and they hung freely at his sides. However, his freedom was short-lived, as he felt a prickly sensation all over his body. Her voice boomed inside his head:

_Come… tend to me._

He winced but did not otherwise move.

"You impress me with your resistance to my Imperius Curse, Gryffindor, but even if Azkaban's Dementors could not break my will after fourteen years... what chance have _you?" _She reasserted herself:

_Tend to me._

Dean could feel her dark influence permeate his flesh. It was intoxicating. He found his feet moving his body toward the bed, though he did not recall commanding them to do so. He came upon her and was moved to brush her hair aside in order to behold her face, made gentle by her lack of outward expression, and he stared into her dark eyes intently.

She bit her bottom lip.

His blood surged.

His steady fingers glided from her face to the downward slope of her neck. The thin straps that held up her chemise snagged on his fingertips and were cast aside when his touch travelled across her slight shoulders.

The laced garment fell around her ankles.

He brought his lips to her neck, but was stilled when his nose detected an odd scent. His tongue found the special spot below her ear, and he kissed it.

Her hands reached behind his neck, and she held his head fast as his lips suckled at her salty, tangy skin, leaving behind a purple bruise.

The Imperius Curse, allied with his raging hormones, murdered his inhibition, and he pushed her onto the bed.

She landed on her bum, giggling like a schoolgirl.

Dean knelt and took hold of one of her boots. At his magical gaze, its laces were made unentwin'd, and he removed it along with its mate. He unclipped the stockings on her leg, bound to her garter belt, and slowly unrolled it, exposing the goosebumps on her flesh. He took her dainty foot in his hands, the bottom of which was callused from her time in Azkaban, and he massaged it expertly.

Her eyelids fluttered, and her lips made an involuntary smile. "You require no instruction… you lied to me when you said you hadn't been with a woman."

"Yes, ma'am."

She leaned back, resting on her elbows. "There are no secrets from me, Dean Thomas of Dumbledore's Army. Who have you 'known' before me?"

"R-rita S-s-skeeter."

Bellatrix laughed out loud. _"Naughty…_ I knew there was something different about you when we first locked eyes." She reclined, the back of her hand alit on her forehead, and she sighed in contentment.

By this time her other limb had been made bare in similar fashion. Her semi-willing lover's hands explored the pale skin of her smooth legs—the engorged lips at their apex grew damp. The fabric darkened at the crotch of her knickers.

"Mmmm… That busybody cow taught you well." She brandished her wand:

_Kiss me, Tom._

Unawares, Dean assumed that she had merely truncated his surname 'Thomas' and thus began his oral exploration at her painted toes. Bellatrix took her wand's curved shaft in her teeth and bit down hard as Dean's busy lips and hands journeyed methodically along her person.

—oOo—

Outside, Peter Pettigrew stood guard in the hallway. His attention was roused by odd sounds originating from inside Bellatrix's quarters. He knelt, and with one eye squinting, peered through the keyhole. Though his vantage point could not afford him a direct view, he was able to make out a shadow cast adjacently of splayed feminine legs with toes pointed toward opposite facing walls.

The former marauder sneered.


	2. Pillow Talk

Malfoy Manor — September

* * *

The bed was still. Bellatrix sighed as she awoke from a satisfying post-coital glow, rested and secured in her lover's arms:

"You Mudbloods are good for something after all…" The tip of her wand graced the side of his face, whispering, "This is just a sample of a pure-blood's benevolence; imagine the peace that will be had when this war is over."

The words barely registered as Dean held her, working out his conflicted feelings, spent in both body and spirit, wondering, _Where does the __Imperius Curse __end and I begin?_

"So, am I every bit the monster that you imagined?" When Dean did not answer, Bellatrix looked up at him, her chin on his chest. "Why are you so quiet, Gryffindor? Talk to me."

"Why? You've already read my mind."

"Legilimency is so sterile; it lacks nuance," she said. "Besides, a woman _needs_ this part. Did Rita not teach you that?"

"No. We didn't talk much."

"A shame. I'll tell you what... how about we play a muggle game: Truth or Dare—but without the _dare.__" _A mischievous grin visited her. "We each take a turn asking the other a question, and we're both obliged to tell the truth. Nothing is off limits." She dragged the tip of her wand across his chest. "Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"No."

Her grin disappeared, and she propped herself up on her hands, on all fours, yet high enough that her long hair merely grazed the sides of his face. "Haven't I been nice to you, Dean?" Her look and her tone had become severe.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then don't mistake my kindness for weakness."

"Sorry, ma'am."

She smiled. "That's better. A little appreciation goes a long way with me." She lowered onto her elbows, their bodies now pressed together. "Would you like to go first?"

"You're very kind." He took a deep breath and asked the question that had been on his mind ever since he first stepped foot inside Malfoy Manor. "Are you going to kill me?"

She pursed her lips in thought. "Truth be told, that was my original intent; I've been under a lot of stress lately, and I needed the diversion. However, you have made me mellow and calm. So, I reversed myself, and here we are." It being her turn, she asked, "To wit: would you like to be my private consort? I'm a hard woman, but as you have experienced, I can be _very_ generous."

"No…. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. Truth is part of the rules. I don't blame you, besides: I _have_ lost some of my looks over the years…."

"I think you're beautiful."

_"Mmmm."_ For the first time in recent memory, Bellatrix Lestrange blushed, a stark contrast to her usual pallid complexion. She brought her lips close to his but stopped short.

He took in her warm breath as his own and initiated a long deep kiss.

She moaned.

"Why me?" he whispered. "I'm a Mudblood, according to you."

"And that makes you disposable: nobody would know, and no one would miss you, Dean Thomas of Dumbledore's Army."

"That's not true. I have friends—"

"None of consequence…. Do I frighten you?"

"Yes…. Why do you hate me?"

"I have nothing against you personally. "

"As long as _you're_ in control…."

"Is that a question?"

"Yes."

"_Yes._ Otherwise, your lot will rise up and take our stuff as a matter of policy, and dilute us as a matter of practice." She sneered at her turn. "Could you tell at which point I discontinued the Imperious Curse?"

"Yes."

"And, yet, you did not stop pleasing me, even _after_ you spilled seed… _why?__"_

"Isn't it my turn?"

"You went twice before. Answer the question."

"I couldn't stop."

"_Why?"_

He averted his eyes in shame. "Because... I liked it."

"I could tell." She lightly kissed the tip of his nose. "So did I." She lightly kissed the dimple on his chin. "We are connected, you and I."

He swallowed. "If I tried to escape, would you kill me, then?"

"Without hesitation…. Was I better than Rita?"

"Yes."

"Was I better than Ginny?" She looked into his eyes. "If you lie, I'll know."

"Lots," he admitted. "With her it was… awkward."

"That's the difference between a girl and a _woman."_ She kissed his chest tenderly. "I don't like the way she used you… shall I kill her for you?"

"No, don't."

"Are you sure? It's no trouble at all."

"No." He restrained the volume of his voice so as not to provoke her ire. "I'll do anything if you spare her."

"You'll be my private consort and do my bidding?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Adorable." She giggled. "As if you have a say in the matter."

Dean clenched his jaw. His Gryffindor pride swelled in his heart. "Why would you risk such a thing, stopping the Imperius Curse?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"What happened to the truth?"

"That _is_ the truth."

"Was it because you couldn't hold your concentration?"

"You're clever, boy. But, don't flatter yourself."

"Or, was it because you _like__d_ not being in control?"

She straightened as she straddled him. Her heavy eyelids made it appear as if her eyes were closed as she looked down on him with a frown. "Careful, Gryffindor."

"Was I better than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

She casually brandished her wand. _"Avada Kedavra."_

The curse hit Dean in the chest. It was an odd sensation: like death stepping over him. His body tensed in a panic, and his heart raced. He struggled to slow his heaving chest, being on the verge of hyperventilating.

Bellatrix leaned in to nestle her cheek against his—her hot breath warmed his earlobe—whispering, _"__Shhh,_ my sweet Mudblood, Auntie Bella didn't mean it." She kissed his cheek as she started to stroke his hair. "You want the truth? Here it is: you had an opportunity to overpower me. You could've claimed my wand and ended me, but instead you slaked your lust. I told you that your Gryffindor courage is false. When it comes to physical courage your lot does not hesitate; however, where is your _moral_ courage, Dean...? _It trickles. Down. My thigh."_ Bellatrix giggled. She then embraced him and commanded his arms to reciprocate. "Every act that I perpetrate, and every Mudblood and pure-blood traitor that I dispatch, henceforth, is on _you."_

For the first time they perceived the ticking of the clock on the mantle in the quiet aftermath. Their bodies entwined, Bellatrix enjoyed the bliss that comes with denouement. The bells chimed on the quarter hour, and she rolled off of her helpless toy to recline beside him. The tip of her wand glowed a deadly green as she traced a path down the centreline of the youth's torso.

A tear ran out of the corner of Dean's eye. He had proven to be no match for the Dark Lord's most loyal.

Bellatrix suspended the Imperius Curse. "Aww." And she kissed the lone tear away. "Itty, bitty… baby."

Dean watched her as she rose from the bed. She assembled her clothes and started to dress herself.

She did not bother to regard him. "Get dressed."

Dean obeyed. He found a fresh set of clothes that the house-elf laid out for him. They were of a higher quality than the ones provided for him by The Ministry's relocation camp.

They said nothing to each other as he finished dressing.

He zipped up his jacket. "What now?"

Seated at the vanity, she had poured herself a generous glass of wine. "You're free to go."

He blinked. "Really? Just like that?"

"Yes," she said plainly. "Piss off."

"You're not just gonna _Avada_ me when I turn my back?"

"There's nothing stopping me from doing that now."

"Good point. Why are you letting me go?"

"You actually need an explanation?"

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble?"

She took her time emptying her glass as she collected her thoughts. Her hands instinctively rested on her empty, babyless belly, and her countenance hardened in reverie:

"My father once took us on a cruise in the North Atlantic. It was a business trip in the guise of a family vacation, really. He brought us all on deck when we happened upon a pod of Orca's... do you know what those are?"

"Yeah, Killer Whales."

"Beautiful creatures, deserving of the name. They came alongside a group of seals, and at first we thought they were playing... until the water turned red. My mother took my two younger sisters below deck, but daddy insisted that I was old enough to stay—circle of life, and all that. Anyway, the adults and even the babies were given no quarter. I was horrified, yet fascinated by their efficiency. However, that wasn't what impressed me the most... When they had their fill, there was a lone pup left. I thought they were about to tear him apart, but instead they just slapped him around in the air like a volleyball. I started to laugh—I couldn't help it. It went on for a few minutes, and finally they laid him up on a slab of ice, gently, as if to say, 'Sorry about that.'" She shrugged. "Then they went about their business."

"Why?"

"Daddy said that since the beasts were sated, they were merely playing with their food. But, do you know what I think? They were practising for their next kill: proper killing takes calculation." She regarded him with doe eyes. "So... are you sure you don't want to stay with me?"

He blinked. "So... I'm the pup?"

She grinned. "Yes."

"I'll take my chances, then, if that's alright."

"You're brave... but not very smart." She refilled her glass, emptying the bottle. "Will you promise me something?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Promise that you'll never forget me… _half-blood.__"_

Dean's eyes narrowed. _Half-blood?_ But, he wisely chose not to press the issue. "Yes, ma'am." And he left.

At her instruction. Peter Pettigrew unceremoniously escorted Dean out of the manor and off the grounds. The magical iron gates slammed shut behind him. He looked about the desolate landscape; the brisk night air had brought along a chill. He flipped the collar up on his jacket, and he walked down the empty road, wandless.


	3. Luna Logic

March

* * *

Dean stirred. The Snatchers, assigned to round up those of his kind, had killed most of his friends: Dirk Cresswell, Gornuk, and Ted Tonks. After being on the run for months, he had come full circle, being captured and bound in the atrium of Malfoy Manor.

The effects of the Stun Spell he had recently suffered started to wane, as he was roused by muffled voices behind the door around the corner. On his knees, he regarded the opulence of his familiar surroundings. The goblin to his left, similarly hexed, groaned.

"Griphook… still alive, eh?" Dean said.

The goblin kept his eyes lowered. "So far, human."

"Where's Harry and the rest?"

Griphook's sensitive ears twitched. "In the other room, if I were to guess. Apparently, we weren't important enough for consideration."

The Snatcher standing guard over them flicked his wrist, using his wand to swat Dean on the back of his head. "Quiet, you two!"

Dean heard measured footfalls descending from the staircase behind. He wisely chose not to test the Snatcher's patience by turning to investigate. His curiosity was eventually satisfied when he heard the familiar voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, being flanked by Peter Pettigrew:

"What is the meaning of this?" she questioned. She stilled when she observed Dean obliquely, but did not otherwise give her recognition of him away. Using her wand, she _Accio'd_ the sack held by the guard and began to rifle through it. "Is this all they had on them?" An envelope therein, written in familiar handwriting, piqued her interest.

The guard protested. "Begging your pardon, Madam Lestrange—"

She held up a quieting finger as she began to read the letter inside. The corners of her lips turned upward, soon followed by a sinister cachinnation. She regarded the prisoners, lingering on the human. "You may keep the goblin. But, how much do you want for the _pup?"_

"That's what I've been trying to tell you: I'm not in charge."

"Where's your master, then, dog?" She carefully folded the letter and put it back in the envelope.

"He's in the drawing room with the Malfoy's and the others."

"Why?"

Her question was answered when she heard Lucius Malfoy's muffled voice on the other side of the door:

"_It's them, Potter's friends—Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name—?"_

Bellatrix gasped. "Potter…." She had the presence of mind to put the envelope in her pocket, and she turned to her underling, saying, "Pettigrew, take these two below, then come back here. Make haste!" She made her way to the drawing room.

Dean tensed. "Hey, I want that letter back!" And he rose to his feet. "I MADE A PROMISE!"

Pettigrew aimed his wand. "Stupefy!"

~o~o~o~o~O~o~o~o~o~  
Shell Cottage... Two Weeks Later

The ordeal at Malfoy Manor was still fresh in Dean's mind, having escaped with Harry Potter and his friends to the comfort of Shell Cottage, a refuge for members of the Order of the Phoenix.

The charcoal pen glided across the paper as the effigy of Bellatrix Lestrange started to take form at Dean's practised hand. The eyes were the hardest part.

He heard a knock on the door, and he turned the page of his sketchbook to an unfinished drawing of Dobby, the elf that had rescued him from his recent imprisonment at the Malfoys. "Come in." He smiled when Luna Lovegood opened the door, carrying a plate that held a sandwich she had made.

She approached and set the plate down on the side table. "We missed you at dinner."

"I wasn't hungry."

"I brought you something anyway, in case you change your mind."

"Cheers."

Dean continued drawing as Luna sat next to him, taking a seeming interest in the subject on the page. If she knew that she was the only person that he allowed to look over his shoulder while he was engaged so, she gave no indication of such.

"Is that Mr Dobby?" She questioned.

"Yes."

"You have eidetic memory. That's rare in a Gryffindor." She cocked her head in her usual fashion. "I always thought you were one of the smart ones… odd, but smart."

"Not as smart as Hermione, unfortunately."

"Hermione _is_ well-read, but it's made her close-minded, and therefore incapable of lateral thinking."

Dean snorted loudly.

She reclined her head on the backing of the settee. "I like listening to you draw."

"Er, sorry, did you say 'listen?'"

"The sound the charcoal makes when it scratches the paper… it keeps the Erklings away."

He smiled. "You're right. It _is_ relaxing, now that I think about it."

"I've noticed you're different now."

"Am I?"

"Is it because of what happened at the Malfoy's?" She regarded him while keeping her head reclined. "Is it because of Bellatrix?"

The scratching ceased. "Are you a Legilimens?"

"No, I just noticed the way your mood changes every time her name comes up in conversation… whatever it is, it's made you mature beyond your years."

"I'll be fine, Luna." The pleasant scratching resumed. "Actually, going by the wireless it sounds like you, Ginny and Neville were having a harder time of it, keeping Dumbledore's Army afloat."

"Mhmm."

"Ginny and Neville… I hope they're safe, at least."

"Are you changing the subject because talking about Bellatrix makes you sad?"

"Well—I wouldn't say it makes me sad… but, I'd rather put it behind me, if that's okay?"

"I understand," Luna said. However, this was only enough to quiet her for moment. "I'm glad you and Ginny broke up."

Dean snorted louder this time.

"You two didn't fit."

"She certainly didn't think so."

"It wasn't your fault, you know: Harry was unattainable, so you were her fallback."

"Wow…. Thanks for that."

"Not a problem," she said. However, this was only enough to quiet her for _half_ a moment. "Was Ginny your first?"

"Er, what do you mean?"

"Was she your first kiss?"

Relieved, Dean answered, "No." Nevertheless, made suddenly uncomfortable, he took a bite of his sandwich.

She granted him the courtesy of waiting for him to swallow. "Was your first kiss memorable?"

"Not really."

"How tragic."

He shrugged. "It's just a kiss."

"My mother said that a first kiss is magical. Such a precious thing is not to be taken lightly."

Dean pursed his lips and merely grunted.

She shifted and propped her elbow on the backing, regarding him with quizzical blue eyes. "Do you have a girlfriend now?"

"No," he said. "How about you?"

"I don't fancy girls, Dean." Her expression was one of amusement.

He chuckled. "Sorry. I meant, do you have a boyfriend?"

Still smiling, she shook her head.

He resumed sketching. She placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, listening. He gave her a peck on the top of her head.

"Will you make me a promise, Dean?"

"Anything."

"When the fighting starts, don't die."


	4. Yielding

Hogwarts – May

* * *

The battle is over. The Dark Lord is defeated. Hogwarts, though battered, still stands. After years of darkness, the light finally shines. The students have taken back their school and have come together in fellowship.

This day, there is only one house.

The sun peeked over the horizon, providing light for the clean up efforts. Dean was part of the group that helped gather the bodies of those loyal to Lord Voldemort, placing them off-site from the Great Hall, away from the valiant dead. He and Seamus lowered the stretcher carrying Bellatrix Lestrange's still form, her limbs hanging limp and lifeless over the edges. He knelt beside her, righted her legs and straightened her body, finishing by crossing her delicate hands over her heart.

Dean ripped off a section of the bandage wrapped around his forearm and summoned a trickle of water in order to wet it. He used it to wipe the grime off of her face, and then he straightened her hair, lending to the illusion that she was engaged in peaceful slumber.

He choked back the tears that had started to well in his eyes, and he used the makeshift wash cloth to dab them away, under the pretence that he was wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Do you two wanna be alone?"

His regarded his friend, Seamus Finnegan, who stood behind him, sporting a lopsided grin. "It's surreal... to look at her now you wouldn't think…."

"That she was a nutter?"

Dean snorted. "I was going say a Death Eater, but I get your point." His eyes looked to his left, as they were no longer alone.

"I'm glad she's dead," Hermione said, happening upon the two of them. "That's horrible of me to say, isn't it?"

"I think a lot of people share your sentiment," Seamus replied.

Dean regarded the familiar curved wand in Hermione's hand. "That's Bellatrix's wand."

"Yes." She instinctively brandished the magical implement. "Circumstances forced me to use it, but now I think I should destroy it."

"But you'll be left wandless," Dean said.

"It doesn't matter any more; the fighting's over, isn't it?"

"Still, I've been wandless… it wasn't fun."

"I'd rather be wandless than to use this one: it resists me… it's _unyielding."_

"Maybe it senses your disdain?"

"It's very perceptive, then."

Dean Rose to his feet. Towering over the diminutive Hermione, he presented the wand that he had won in the battle. "Wanna trade?"

Hermione arched a curious eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"Quite."

"But, think of all the people who died from this wand," she persisted. "I'm of the mind that destroying it would be the best revenge for all its victims."

"Wouldn't the best revenge be to tame it and use it for good?"

Seamus folded his arms intently, compelled to interrupt, saying, "Eh, now, you can't just trade wands willy-nilly like that."

"Why not?" Dean questioned.

"Weren't you paying attention to that palaver at the end between Voldemort and Harry about who a wand's master is, and such-n-such?"

Hermione shared a look with Dean before replying, "What do you propose, Seamus?"

"Dean, you should let Hermione disarm you, and likewise Hermione should let you disarm her, that way you'll each be the respective masters of the others' wand—Oh, you're just gonna ignore me and trade anyway.… Alright, but don't come crying to me when things go tits up."

Hermione pointed her new wand at the corpse—_"Incendio!"_—and Bellatrix's body crumpled into ashes. "Seems to work just fine. Ta." She said her goodbye's and left.

Seamus grimaced when the witch was out of earshot. "She's scary, that one."

Dean snorted. He started after Seamus to join in the celebrations, when he caught a flash of gold at the far side of the atrium. His eyes came into focus on Luna Lovegood's blonde locks, accentuated by the early morning sunlight. They shared a look, and she smiled at him before disappearing up the side entrance leading to one of the many adjoining corridors that fed into the Grand Staircase.

He followed her, but by the time he reached the foot of the stairs, she was nowhere in sight. He ascended to the second floor and found himself at the entrance of a darkened hallway. It was quiet. He took out his new wand and cast the Illumination Charm—the wand felt like it belonged in his hand.

"Luna?"

In answer, he spied a glowing light at the end of the hall and, upon investigation, he came across the ethereal effigy of a rabbit. He followed the Patronus to the fifth floor on the West side of the castle.

He ascended the final spiral staircase that led to the entrance of Ravenclaw Tower, and the rabbit disappeared. He found himself standing in front of a door whose only interface was a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. The door magically swung open, and Dean crossed the threshold, asking it, "No riddle?"

The magical knocker's voice was low and gravelly. "Everything's gone to hell, so I'm taking the day off."

Within the grand circular room, Dean easily found Luna seated on the high windowsill which afforded her a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains through her Spectrespecs. When she sensed his presence, she propped her special eyeglasses atop her head and regarded him.

Though he was now among the few privileged Gryffindors to ever set foot inside the Ravenclaw common room, Luna's smile supplanted his fascination with the splendid novelty of his unfamiliar surroundings.

He returned her smile.

"You kept your promise, Dean."

"Sorry?"

"Your promise not to die," Luna clarified. "I'm glad."

"Me too."

She stepped off the windowsill and approached him. "I thought it'd be nice to be alone. I found the festivities... _tiring."_

"Sorry… should I leave?"

Her expression become more muted as she raised a single eyebrow. "That would defeat the purpose of me luring you here."

His eyes narrowed. "I'm pretty sure that I came here of my own free will."

She straightened with her fingers laced loosely behind her back and walked a complete circuit around the confused Gryffindor as she explained herself. "It's fair to say that all the free magic released from the battle attracted every dark creature in the area. Their sinister influences can make one highly suggestible and therefore easy to manipulate." She casually donned her Spectrespecs. "You should be more careful: witches who may not have your best interests at heart may seek to take advantage of your naiveté."

"May I?" Dean gently removed her Spectrespecs; her blue eyes blinked. "I'm pretty sure I'm not here because of Wrackspurts either." He put the magic glasses on and looked about. "How do these things work anyway?"

"Not everything is a Wrackspurt, Dean. And you should take those off; they look silly on you. Not everyone can pull off Spectrespecs, either."

He returned them. "It's hard to tell when you're kidding."

"That's because you're an odd one." She cocked her head to one side. "Strangely, it makes you endearing."

He grinned. "I'm curious; what makes me so odd?"

"Throwing yourself into battle without a wand for starters… some would mistakenly say it's your Gryffindor courage."

"What do _you_ say?"

"I think you had something to prove."

Dean clenched his jaw.

Her gaze lowered to the wand in Dean's hand. "May I touch it?"

"Sorry?"

"I saw you trade with Hermione…. It used to belong to Bellatrix, didn't it?."

"Oh… right." He obliged her. "Hermione was going to destroy it: she complained about it being _unyielding."_

With a flick of her wrist, Luna easily cast a Patronus. It hopped about in mid-air and circled the room several times before she dispelled it.

"Yet, it yields easily under _her_ new master," she said, returning the wand to its owner. "I told you that Hermione is closed-minded."

"Sorry, did you call my wand a 'her'?"

"Yes," she answered, nonplussed. "Can't you tell?"

"Er… no."

"Think about it: you rescued her. Ollivander taught me that the wand chooses the wizard, and I think she likes you." She averted her eyes. "Not that I blame her."

"She _is_ unconventional, but that's what makes her brilliant," he said, presumably of the wand, yet he regarded the blonde.

Luna blushed.

"This has to be the most we've ever spoken to each other in one sitting, don't you agree?"

"Sorry, I'm not usually so talkative. I guess I'm just nervous."

"Me too."

"It... must be because of the battle."

"Don't apologize, Luna. Hearing you talk is like… truth without the cloak-and-dagger."

A hint of a grin visited her lips. "That's _not_ the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me… but it's close."

Dean chuckled. "Brilliant."

She giggled—reservedly—in the way that only Luna can.

All smiles faded as they regarded each other in earnest.

Then, as naturally as any man would breathe, Dean leaned in and tentatively pressed his lips against hers. They were soft, emboldening him to continue. He felt her tiny hand slide behind his head, and she held him fast as she yielded to his kiss.

The wind whistled between the windows in the wake of the morning breeze.

They parted.

Her hands rested on his chest. "Thank you, Dean," she whispered.

"For what?" he whispered.

"For making my first kiss magical."

Those big blue eyes of hers made his heart race. "I should thank you: when they talk about this horrible day in the years to come, all _I'm_ going to remember... is you."

Luna's hands slid up his chest, and her arms wrapped around his neck as she magically floated upwards until her eyes met his. Dean's hands secured her waist—a dainty leg lifted—and he yielded to her kiss.

The wind continued to whistle between the windows.

–oOo–

_Whose eyes are bluer than the sky?  
_ _No need for a broom to fly...  
_ _Eagle wings lift me:  
_ _My Ravenclaw angel._

** _..._ **

_Whose favour is eternal bliss?  
__Never had a magical kiss..._  
_Until she kissed _me:  
_My Ravenclaw angel._

** _..._ **

_Who ascends to the heavens above?  
_ _life is forfeit–death yields to love..._  
_Take me with you:  
_ _My Ravenclaw angel._

** _..._ **

_You're beautiful_

_My Ravenclaw angel_

–oOo–


	5. A Gentleman's Agreement

Malfoy Manor — August

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy welcomed the absence of the Death Eaters that had inhabited her estate during the occupation. After a long day of legal negotiations, she retired to her study, alone, being without the company of her Death Eater husband that she likewise 'disinvited' from her presence. Looking forward to some peace and quiet, she turned on the lights, and she yelped when she realized that she wasn't alone.

Dean Thomas, who had been waiting patiently for her arrival, sat quietly on the sofa situated on the far corner of the room. He levelled his wand; his voice was calm, yet serious. "Do _not_ reach for your wand."

Narcissa obeyed, keeping her hands still. "Who's there?" Her eyes then widened in recognition. "You."

He approached, keeping his wand trained on her. "My condolences on the loss of your sister."

"Thank you." She regained her composure, though her heart beat rapidly inside her chest. "The counter curses required to deactivate my security measures are very elaborate. How did you defeat them, if I may ask?"

"I didn't." He presented the curved wand in his hand. "Priori Incantatem… from the right wand."

She snorted upon recognizing Bellatrix's former wand. "Nicely done." Emboldened, she casually walked over to the desk, but was stilled when Dean extended his wand arm.

"_Don't. Move__."_ He settled behind her, standing close enough to smell the scent of her hair. He couldn't help but regard her figure that pleasingly filled out the curves of her couture dress. She was built like Bellatrix.

Narcissa tensed. "I'll be missed… soon."

"I didn't kill her, if that's what you're wondering."

"I know who killed my sister."

Unconcerned, Dean felt along her forearm and found the object hidden under her sleeve. He reached inside the cuff and retrieved her wand. "I read in the _Prophet_ that the Wizengamot pardoned the Malfoy family for any wrongdoing during the occupation… congratulations."__

"What can I say… We saw the light."

"Lies."

"If it's any consolation, the reparations we're going to pay out are going to be substantial."

"It won't be enough, if my stay here was typical."

"No need to be dramatic," she said, hiding her nervousness. "If you must know, Bellatrix dealt with the snatchers directly; I wasn't aware of any misconduct with the prisoners."

"More lies." He grinned at her failure to respond. "I understand… it makes it convenient, being able pass the blame onto someone else, made more convenient that she's dead, yeah?"

"What do you want, money?" She paused in trepidation. "Revenge?"

"No need to be dramatic." He gave her some space, as her trembling hands gave her away. "I only want what was stolen from me."

"_Stolen?"_

"When I was here last, I had a letter taken from me by the snatchers—"

"You'll have to ask Bellatrix."

His grin returned. "I never told you that _Bellatrix_ took possession of it."

"Like I said, she dealt with the snatchers directly." She was more confident now, and she faced him properly. "What makes you think that I have it?"

"I saw her expression as she read it," he persisted. "And she handled it very deliberately afterwards… the same way that someone of your lot handles money. Since it wasn't on her body, that means it is secured somewhere in here."

She raised an eyebrow in approval. "You've learned to play the game—something I've been trying to teach my own son."

"It helps to keep company with a goblin."

"No doubt." She folded her arms. "If… _If_ I were to know the whereabouts of this letter, and divulged same, what would I get in return?"

"What do you want?"

"Nothing extraordinary. Your appreciation would suffice."

"My _appreciation?"_—his brow furrowed—"I don't understand."

"For example, if I were to ask you for a favour at some point in the future, would you reciprocate?"

"I don't do favours for Death Eaters."

"I've never been a Death Eater." To illustrate, she pulled up her sleeve, revealing her bare forearm. "I am also _not_ my sister." She replaced her sleeve. "It wouldn't be anything untoward, I assure you. We can make an unbreakable vow, if you like."

"I prefer to deal with people at their word…. You have mine."

She grunted. "I can see why Bellatrix wanted to… interrogate you so badly." With a sideways nod, she instructed, "Go to the bookcase. You'll find what you seek hidden inside the tome titled _War and Peace."_

Dean obeyed. He found the book in question, flipped through the pages, and the envelope fell out. "Clever."

"Have you read it?"

"Er—no," he replied nonplussed.

She smiled. "I meant the letter."

"It's not addressed to me." He put the envelope in his pocket. "What's so special about it, anyway?"

Narcissa shrugged. "Nothing."

"Then why did you keep it?"

"Because, it costs us nothing to keep, and the only thing more valuable than money, is leverage—especially at a time like this."

Dean snorted. "Draco is indeed your son."

"Damn right." She looked the youth in the eye. "And I will hold you to your word, Gryffindor."

"I never told you I was in Gryffindor."

"Your sanctimonious arrogance betrays you."

"Bellatrix is indeed your sister." He walked over to the open window where his broom was propped against its edge. He mounted it. "Goodnight, ma'am."

"Er, may I know your name, Gryffindor?"

"If your sister never spoke of me, then I guess I'm not worth knowing, am I?"

He sped off into the night sky, leaving her wand on the window sill.

By the time she made it to the window, Dean was well out of sight. She retrieved her wand and returned it to her sleeve-sheath.

"Goodnight… Dean Thomas."


	6. Special Delivery

Tonks Residence — August

* * *

Dean Thomas rang the doorbell. Sounds of shuffling from inside the modest dwelling soon followed. The hinges squeaked as the door cracked open just wide enough for a single eye to peek through.

"Hello?" the lady said with a soft voice.

He straightened. "Hello, my name is Dean Thomas. I have a letter for Andromeda Tonks."

"Why didn't you just owl it, Dean Thomas?"

"I was obliged to deliver it personally… It's from Ted."

The door closed. He heard her utter a counter spell from the other side, and it reopened wide enough for him to fully regard her. He froze as the woman bore a remarkable resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange.

When Dean failed to respond, the woman spoke. "I'm Andromeda Tonks."

He blinked. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to stare."

"Bellatrix Lestrange is my sister." She smiled weakly as she drew her cardigan in tighter around her chest. "As you can imagine, I get that reaction a lot."

He nodded. "Now that I look at you again, the eyes are different."

She grinned. "Now, I wonder, why do _you_ look familiar?"

"I don't know. But I'm sure we've never met; I would've remembered."

"You're one of Harry's friends, aren't you?" Her smile broadened in recognition. "Would you like to come inside?"

"No, I didn't come here to disrupt your day." He fished the letter out of one of his pockets. "I just wanted to tell you that, during the occupation, I ran with Ted along with a few other survivors… He saved my life on the night that he gave me this letter for safekeeping." He handed her the envelope. "His last thoughts were of you."

She took the proffered object and, upon recognizing the handwriting, her eyes welled. A baby started to cry; she glanced over her shoulder. "Sorry, that would be my grandson."

"Professor Lupin's son?" Dean questioned.

She smiled. "Yes."

"Professor Lupin was my favourite teacher."

"He was my favourite son-in-law." The baby's cries continued. "I should go check on Teddy—"

"Of course. I won't keep you. Good day to you, ma'am."

He started to leave, making it halfway down the steps of the porch, when he was stilled by her:

"Mister Thomas." She opened the door fully. "I have tea brewing on the stove top. Are you sure you don't want come inside…? It's no bother." She smiled nervously. "I could use the company, actually."

Dean shrugged. "Cheers." And he joined her.

~o~o~o~o~O~o~o~o~o~

_Dearest Mum,_

_Sorry it's been a bit since I wrote you, but a lot of things have happened over the year. The biggest thing I got going is Seamus and I have rented a flat in London. We're going to stay there for a couple of years while we go into the Auror Training Program. That's like the police, but for Wizarding types like me. I haven't given up on my art, but I think I can do more good as an Auror for now._

_As promised, I'll be by to visit next week. By the way, I met a girl. Her name is Luna, and I can't wait for you to meet her. She's brilliant._

_I have lots more to tell you, but I don't want this to be too long of a letter. I just wanted to send you this so you know things are going great. It feels like my life is finally on track._

_Be seeing you soon._

_Lots of love,_

_Dean._

_PS. If Luna starts going on about Wrackspurts and such, just go along with it._

—oOo—


End file.
